


through a song.

by bittertofu



Series: thirty-five ways he said 'i love you.' [24]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-09 00:45:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11093382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittertofu/pseuds/bittertofu
Summary: It'd be better for the both of them if they forgot any of it ever happened.





	through a song.

**Author's Note:**

> a series of drabbles.
> 
> the Song, when you get to it, can be found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2zat__mhYSA

Hands fluttered over him, careful, gentle. Akechi stirred. Groaned at the ache reverberating in his skull. The moment he moved, the sound of shuffling grated against his ears. Someone pushed him upright. Slipped three pills into his mouth, and put water to his lips. He swallowed slowly, wincing at the harsh, bitter taste the pills left on their way down.

He opened first one eye, and then the other. The light in the room, though dim, was blinding. He squeezed his eyes shut against it and waited until complete darkness settled over him. Once the red behind his eyes shifted to black, he tried, experimentally, to open his eyes a second time. Better.

As before, it took a few minutes for the painkillers to kick in and for Akechi to feel like a human being again. He felt around in the dark, pulled the blanket laid over him up to his chin. Sneezed. Someone laughed lightly beside him.

“So you return to the world of the living.”

Those words rang distantly familiar. He remembered saying them once before, albeit thinking that Akira was in a state that he'd never remember it. And, of course, the voice just now belonged to Akira, too. Who else?

“How...how long?” Akechi asked, his voice rasping. “How long have I been asleep?”

“A few hours,” Akira answered. “Dr. Takemi dropped by to check on you. Said you just needed rest, no need to go into the clinic.”

“A house call? I wonder how much that's going to cost me...”

“Nothing. I sort of work for her, so...”

“...You're just involved in everything, aren't you?”

A chuckle. A hand brushing across his brow. Akechi leaned into Akira's touch without exactly meaning to, but it felt so nice. Akira's fingers were warm and soft, and they tickled pleasantly against his skin. He tilted his head so Akira could get better access.

“You're like a bird this way, too,” Akira observed.

Akechi clicked his tongue, but he was too tired and too weak to put up much of a fight about it. At least he was out so hard that he wasn't bothered by needless dreaming. Or if he did dream, he didn't remember it. Either way, it was a blessing. Dreams had not been kind to him lately. He wouldn't have wanted Akira to witness _that_.

Akira slid under the blanket beside him. It was then that Akechi realized that while Akira was fully clothed, he himself was still very, very naked. Heat spread from his stomach to all areas of his body, and he tried to roll himself up in the blanket even more. Akira, perhaps not understanding what Akechi was up to, tugged the blanket free and snuggled right up against Akechi's body, wrapping arms around him from the side.

Akechi placed both hands over his face to hide the furious blush spreading across his cheeks. Akira, meanwhile, rested his head on Akechi's shoulder. Akechi didn't know how he could be comfortable, snuggling up to an overwarm naked man, but Akira didn't complain. He didn't seem to think anything was wrong at all.

“You scared me,” Akira said, matter-of-factly. “I didn't know what was wrong. I didn't know how to help you, and then you just...you...”

Passed out, Akechi thought. Seemed he was always passing out at inconvenient moments these days. He reached up, gave Akira a few light pats on the head.

“There, there.”

Akira snorted at that, which made Akechi smile. It dawned on him, though, just how long Akira had actually been over. He shifted in Akira's arms and turned onto his side so that they were face-to-face.

“Shouldn't you be getting home?” Akechi asked. “Mr. Sakura must be getting worried about you.”

Akira shook his head. “He knows where I am. I texted him earlier.”

“And...Futaba's okay with that?”

Akira gave a quizzical raise of his brow. “Why wouldn't she be?”

“It's...nothing. Nevermind.”

Evidently, Akira hadn't been in the loop when it came to Futaba confronting Akechi. Akechi wondered, a little uncomfortably, if maybe the group was beginning to distrust Akira by association. That would be bad for Akira, who needed people to thrive.

“You shouldn't spend so much time with me, you know,” Akechi drawled, playful. “Your friends might think you've forgotten about them.”

Akira's gaze shifted down and to the left as he apparently seemed to consider this possibility. Stupidly, needlessly, Akechi's heart sped up while waiting for an answer.

Leave me, he thought, unconsciously clutching tighter to Akira's shirt. Don't leave me.

“I won't forget them,” Akira finally said, nodding decisively. “They're important to me.”

“That's precisely why you should—”

“You're important to me, too.”

_And that will be the end of him, if you let it._

Shapes and shadows curled in the depths of Akechi's mind, dark, vaguely formed things of obscure horror dripping destruction from their jaws. Weakly, as gently as possible, he pushed Akira away from him.

“Go home,” he demanded. “I don't...I don't want you here.”

Akira's eyebrows raised the slightest bit. “Well, that's a lie.”

“No,” Akechi insisted, “it's true. I don't want you here right now. What we did, what we've been doing, it's a mistake, it's...it should never have happened. I want you to go home. Now.”

Akira sighed, ruffled his free hand through his mess of curls. His other arm was pinned firmly beneath Akechi's head. The moment he realized this, Akechi stiffened and sat up, releasing Akira from his body weight. Akira sat up as well and stared at Akechi for awhile, while Akechi did his best to meet him with as resolute a gaze as possible. He worried that Akira would hear his heart pounding, see him trembling if he looked too close. Then again, Akira was always, always looking too close.

“I'll go,” Akira said after several minutes, “but I'll come back tomorrow to check on you.”

“No need,” Akechi shot back quickly, urgently. He scrambled to recover. “If I need help, I'll contact Dr. Takemi myself.”

Despite the incredulous look Akira gave him, Akechi stood firm. No, he did not want Akira to come back tomorrow. Yes, he was sure. At least Akira didn't look disappointed this time. Just tired.

When Akira leaned forward to give Akechi a kiss on the forehead, Akechi turned his face away. Akira paused a moment, hovering between kissing him and not kissing him, before shrugging and backing off. Akechi, wrapped up in his blanket, saw Akira to the door. Bowed politely to him as he left. Akira didn't look pleased to be going, and really, Akechi wasn't pleased to see him go, either. But it was necessary. They weren't anything. They never were anything. Akechi had to remember that, for both of them.

He bathed quickly, scraping vulnerability from his skin, and dressed in the most comfortable stay-at-home clothing he had on hand. He then set about cleaning his apartment, scrubbing and bleaching evidence of Akira Kurusu out of his life. His eyes and hands burned by the end of it, but he was satisfied that the smell Akira left behind had been drowned out in chemicals.

By the time he sat back down to rest, his phone blinked at him, indicating a new message. He almost didn't want to check it, feeling in his gut it was from Akira; but when he pulled up his recent messages, he was surprised (and a little alarmed) to see that the text was actually from Futaba Sakura. What did she want now...?

The text had one word only, followed by an audio file for downloading.

“Listen,” it said.

Curiosity got the better of him. He wondered if it was evidence of him talking to Shido, or some other incriminating conversation he'd had. There wasn't much he could do about either of those scenarios, but it was at least good to know where he stood with the group. He downloaded the audio file and listened, concentrating hard.

The first full minute was nothing but static, followed by short, low, intermittent beeps. Then murmuring clouded the background noise. Faintly, faintly, notes of a song started drifting through. Akechi strained to hear it, but the quality was so low and the words so drowned out in static that it was almost impossible to make anything out. The audio clip came to an end, and he had no idea what it was he'd just listened to.

He texted Futaba back with a simple question mark.

Three dots popped up on the bottom of his screen to indicate that she was typing. And then:

_Did you hear it?_

Certainly not, Akechi thought as he typed back:

_What?_

The three dots popped up again almost immediately.

_Did you HEAR it_

Akechi frowned.

_I didn't hear anything._

This time, it was awhile before the dots showed up. Afterwards, all Futaba texted back was:

_Hmm..._

Akechi tried asking her what it was he was supposed to be hearing, but she didn't respond. As far as he could tell, she didn't even bother to read his texts after the last one she sent.

It was increasingly frustrating, interacting with her. He almost missed the days she only spoke to him through Akira.

Sighing in frustration, he set the audio file to replay a second time while he lie back on his futon, hands laced behind his head, eyes closed tight. Static. Beeping. Murmuring. Random, interspersed notes of unidentifiable rhythm or origin. It was an impossible thing to decipher. All he could do was wait for Futaba to text him back.

As it turned out, she did him one better than that. She showed up at his apartment.

“Hello, Justice Man,” she said with a salute, not waiting to be invited in, but stepping straight past Akechi as though he wasn't even there.

He stared blankly at the place outside where Futaba used to be, registered slowly that Futaba was no longer there, and then turned around to see her going through his fridge.

“How do you have literally nothing in here?” she cried, aghast. “Not even milk? Not even eggs? What do you feed on, the dreams of children? Don't answer that. I don't wanna know. Anyway, I brought donuts.”

True to her word, she reached into her backpack and pulled out a box of bite-sized powdered donuts. Immediately, she reached into the box and pulled a donut out, popping it into her mouth.

“Um...” Akechi began. He shifted from foot to foot as he watched her eat donut after donut, folded his arms as she pulled her laptop out of her bag and began typing, typing, typing away at it. Finally, he asked, “May I help you?”

“Phone,” Futaba said, holding her hand out but never looking away from her screen.

“...Excuse me?”

“Your phone, give it to me.”

Considering it was already bugged, Akechi didn't see the harm in handing it to her a second time. It wasn't as though she could ultra-bug it. He placed his phone in her hand, and she set it on the counter beside her, never looking at it.

He shuffled uncomfortably in place, not knowing what to say to her, not being able to throw her out. He settled for trying to peer at her screen over her shoulder, but all he saw were green letters and numbers on black, scrolling, scrolling, scrolling forever.

Finally, after almost half an hour, she cracked her knuckles and took Akechi's phone up in her hands. She stared at it a moment, turned it over and over, scrolled through the apps, browsed through the settings, nodded in satisfaction.

“Just like I remember it,” she said, giving Akechi a thumbs up.

As far as he was concerned, that wasn't a good thing. It meant she was pleased with her bug, something very detrimental to Akechi in general. Still, he smiled politely, if not a little threateningly. She either didn't notice or didn't care.

Her fingers flew over his keys, and before he knew it, the audio file she'd sent him was playing over again. Futaba closed her eyes, tilted her head in concentration. Akechi wondered what she could hear in it that he couldn't. When the file ended, she looked up at him with a crestfallen expression.

“Yikes,” she said, “I guess that was pretty bad. Lemme clean it up a bit, yeah?”

Akechi gave her a quizzical look, but she was already focused on the task she'd set herself. She connected Akechi's phone to her laptop, uploaded the audio file onto it. Akechi didn't even want to begin to ask what she was up to. All he knew was that it took three hours (three hours!) of her fiddling with some program on her computer before she slammed her hands down on the counter (startling Akechi, who'd been dozing, awake) and exclaimed, “Got it!”

Akechi stumbled over to her, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He was horrified to see that the clock on her laptop read a little past 1AM. He panicked—what would Akira, what would _Sojiro_ , think? They must have already called the cops by now. Akechi flustered about Futaba a bit before she waved her hand dismissively at him.

“I told Sojiro I was spending the night at Haru's,” she said, and Akechi felt even deader than before.

“You _lied_?”

“Noooo, I told a false truth. C'mere, listen to this.”

Akechi didn't want to listen. He wanted to march Futaba home immediately and apologize to Sojiro on his face. He didn't get that far, though, because Futaba played the newly edited audio file, and what Akechi heard made his heart stop.

It was a voice, low and tentative, singing softly in English. A voice as familiar to Akechi as the hundreds of tiny scars on his hands. His breath hitched as the words came through sweetly, shyly, yet with a certain degree of determination and longing that made love songs so unforgettable. Akechi covered his mouth, took a step back as if he could take off running at any moment. There was nowhere to run to, though. After three steps, his back hit the wall.

All the while Futaba stared at him, searching his face. Akechi hid his face behind his hands, shook his head.

“He sings,” said Futaba, “sometimes. While working at Leblanc. He'll hum to himself, or murmur words. Always this song. Always after seeing you. I recorded him the other day. He didn't know.”

Akechi folded his arms around himself, chewed on his bottom lip. Futaba continued to stare, and stare, and stare.

“What are you to him?” Futaba asked, half standing on her chair. “What are you really? Because if you're just playing with him...”

“No, I...” Akechi trembled, staggered up to the counter where Futaba sat with her laptop. He gripped his phone and played the audio file again. And then he played it again. And then he played it again. Over and over, until that voice was branded onto his soul.

Futaba's eyes, when he finally looked back at her, were open wide.

“Woah,” she said, quietly. “You really do care about him, don't you?”

Akechi put a finger to his lips. Smiled, weakly.

“Don't tell anyone?” he requested. “It's for his own good that there be nothing between us. I want...I _need_ to let him go. Will you help me do that, Futaba?”

Futaba pursed her lips a moment, considering. In all the time she remained silent, Akechi's heart beat harder and harder. She could tell him no. She could call him a liar. She could throw his own feelings in his face and tell him to walk out of Akira's life and never return. She could do any of those things, and it would take so little for Akechi to reach out and snap her neck. His head protested that realization with its customary stab of pain.

“Alright,” she said at last, and Akechi heaved a quiet sigh of relief. “What do you need me to do?”

It felt good, having a confidante. Having someone other than Sae Niijima know everything that was going on, especially since unlike Sae, Futaba would presumably keep in contact with him. Besides, he could use her hacking skills to monitor Shido all the more closely. He had moment of reservation, thinking of the danger Futaba might be putting herself in, but he decided to believe in her skills more than that. She single-handedly created and took down Medjed, after all. There was likely no limit to what she could really achieve, granted she set her mind to it. Akira really did surround himself with incredible people. He would be okay, with or without Akechi looming over him.

By the time Akechi finished relaying his plan, though, Futaba was white as death. She stared at him with pinched brows, her hands clutching tight the edges of her seat.

“But...If you do that...you...”

“I know. It's alright. It's for the best.”

Futaba shook her head fervently. “Akira's not gonna like that. He's not gonna like that at all.”

“That's why you mustn't tell him.”

“That's not fair! You can't just do that to him! You can't just...ugh!”

She threw her hands up in exasperation and put her head down on the counter, burying her face in her arms. Akechi tentatively, awkwardly, pat her on the back.

“It's going to be alright,” he said, as comfortingly as possible. “It's for his own good. Even you can see that.”

“Doesn't mean I have to like it,” Futaba mumbled into her arms. Suddenly she lifted her head, shoving her face into Akechi's face so that they were only inches away from each other, her little fist curled angrily into his collar. “Alright, listen up,” said Futaba. “If we're gonna do this, we're gonna do it my way. You don't move unless I tell you, got it?”

“Um...”

“ _Got it_?”

Akechi chuckled nervously. “Alright, since I'll be relying on you so much. You get to call the shots.”

Futaba released him. “Good,” she said. Closed her laptop. Stretched. Yawned. “That's good.”

“Shall I walk you home, then?”

“Nah, just let me crash at your place.”

“I...I only have the one futon...”

“You can sleep on the floor, can't you?”

Akechi's perfect smile twitched. “I suppose...for the night...”

Futaba nodded and dragged herself to the single futon, did the favor of kicking off the blanket and pillow for Akechi to use. Soon she was snoring lightly, a being without a care in the world. How nice, Akechi thought, it must be.

Then again, Futaba had to go through a lot to get where she was. She lost a mother, and she nearly lost her mind. Akechi didn't always like her, but he had to respect her quiet strength. She wanted to change herself, and she did.

Just to be on the safe side, he texted Akira about Futaba's actual location. If he wanted to swing by and pick her up in the morning, he could do just that. Akechi could send Futaba to wait outside, and Akira would never have to actually enter his apartment. It was a fool-proof plan.

Except for the fact that neither Futaba nor Akechi woke up before Akira actually got there, and Akira knew where to find the spare key. And that was how, to Akechi's mild horror, there wound up being a photograph of him and Futaba sleeping side-by-side, she on the futon, he on the floor, both of them drooling onto the cushions.

No matter how many times Akechi lightly punched Akira on the arm, Akira only laughed.

 


End file.
